The Stone of the Sorcerer
by juliaaa8
Summary: The story that we all know with a twist: someone else lands themselves in Godric's Hollow the night Harry gets his scar and finds themselves in the midst of the fight against You-Know-Who. Set during Book 1 of the series.
1. Chapter 1

It had been at least an hour since they had left the darkened streets of Privet Drive. Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall were usually ones for small talk, but neither seemed to be able to find their voice as they traveled down a new street on foot. A final stop had been decided on before they would part ways. This ground was very different from the paved and uniform suburban roadway that they had been on before. The packed dirt and loose stones would have been nearly unnavigable if not for the illuminated tip of each of their wands. It was McGonagall who broke the silence.

"Are you certain this is safe?" She asked in a wavering voice, slowing down slightly as a house became visible through the shadows. Any Muggle that may have been attracted to the apparent destruction of the home was long gone, warded off by whatever protective enchantments the Ministr**y** had put in place to keep them away.

"Seeing that the whole country is mostly aware of what has happened, I cannot think of a safer place than the scene of the event itself. Everyone will be running in the opposite direction. Half of the country is in celebration." This logic in itself was unstable if not completely reaching, but McGonagall continued at Dumbledore's side at the set pace, faithful and steadfast. If one were not able to trust Dumbledore at such a time as this, it would be astounding if they could find anyone to trust at all. He continued, "Alas, for the moment, we have more pressing concerns than the trivial matter of our safety. If we do not collect all the details of what hashappened here last tonight, and do our best to understand it in its entirety, when Lord Voldemort returns we will be at a disadvantage. Oh, you truly are missing out on these lemon drops, Minerva." She took one from the pile resting in his incredibly long hand, just for something to distort herself with.

"Please, Albus, let him be gone for more than one day before we speak of his return. Perhaps you should have let the Ministry investigate first like they suggested. We have no way of knowing what lingers in there." Her normally sharp gaze was reduced to wide eye concern. She was more fretful thanever as the pair entered through the iron gate that led up to the house. It hung nearly off its hinges, matching the general chaos that stood before them. As the smoke from the settling rubble blew in the gentle night breeze, she began to think. Perhaps she was getting too old for this much excitement. Dark wizards and dead families. As they came to a halt, observing the still vacant mess, she found herself dreaming of a nice retirement in some Muggle community far, far, from where she was. That's when the noise started. Both of the professors caught their breath in disbelief, but the wail continued, high and clear. It was the last noise either of the two had expected to hear in their time in Godric's Hollow.

A baby was crying.

"My dear Professor, that isn't…that can't be… coming from in the house?" She whispered in disbelief. Without meaning to, she bit through the hard candy that was slowly melting away on her tongue. The screaming continued, echoing around the emptied yard, leaving no corner untouched by the yearning of it.

"Oh no, Minerva, I am almost entirely certain that noise is from within the house." A very confused expression took a new home on the brilliant man's face, in replacement of hisnormal smile. The breeze picked up, untucking his silver beard from where it was under the sash of his robes.

"The Potter boy is hundreds of miles away, Headmaster, we ensured that. Is this some ruse? The Death Eaters may have beaten us here. I just knew we shouldn't have waited." The wavering in her voice was much more pronounced, but she still stood tall and unmoving.

"I assure you, if it is indeed the trickery of the Death Eaters, no harm will come to you while I am still here. No, I think this is entirely something else." And with that he took off up the half collapsed stairs that led to the broken-in front doorway. The door itself lay discarded to the side, a jagged crack running up the middle to match the new scar on Harry's head. Leaves skittered around the cold ground and Dumbledore's robes billowed out behind him, giving the illusion that he was a lot bigger and more menacing than the slight old man he truly was. McGonagall kept close on his heels, preferring to be safe by his side rather than alone in the dark yard, easy bait for any lingering follower of You-Know-Who who was still on his deranged mission of murder.

The inside was even worse than what they had seen so far. No belonging of the Potter family had been left unturned. Even the air felt as though every last bit of magic had been extinguished from it. It was dry, harder to breathe in than the thick smoke outside. As they followed the source of the noise, the crying, their path was twice barred with the bodies of the newly deceased, not yet touched or moved. Each time, Dumbledore swished his wand through the air and a thick, seamless cover materialized from nowhere, covering the husband and then the wife. What little natural light there was reflected off the tears pooling in both Dumbledore and McGonagall's eyes. Then finally, the source of the crying could be identified.

There, sitting in the abandoned crib of Harry Potter, was another baby. The last possible thing that belonged unprotected at a crime scene so horrific as this. McGonagall rushed forward to pick up the young girl, one year old at the most, with chubby tear stained cheeks; but Dumbledore held up a hand to stop her. Silently he hovered his wand over the baby's head, eyes darting back and forth with the incantations that were worded in his head. When the child had passed any test that he had for it, his arm lowered back to his side painfully slow. McGonagall swept the baby up into her arms as to calm her down. The severe woman was not used to being so comforting, but after some coaxing the small girl sniffled an end to her hysterics. McGonagall's posture relaxed, but her eyes told a different story as they met with her companion's over the tiny shoulder. Fear. Worry. And wonder. Wonderings of how a child barely old enough to walk on its own found its way into this family's home on the dark night that would change everything, forever.

—

The sunshined brightly down on the streets of London just two weeks past the horrific night that had supposedly brought about the end to the dark wizard that had killed so many. Whispers followed a particular pedestrian down the sidewalks: a strangely dressed man pushing along a stroller and smiling a good morning to everyone that he passed. It was a miracle that Dumbledore was able to smile at all, considering the fact that he had hardly any sleep in days. One would think that the ending of a doomed war would bring about an abundance of peace and happiness. Many _were_ at ease now that their lives weren't being immediately threatened, but there was still mayhem as everything that had been part of the disorder was attempting to be ordered again. This was Dumbledore's fifth meeting with the Minister of Magic this week, and that was only counting the official ones. After flushing himself down a certain toilet, he found himself in the Minister's office, miraculously dry as bone. It never ceased to amaze him. The towers of papers and multiple objects moving on their own accord around the square room were disorienting at first, but finally he found the Minister, sitting on the floor behind his heavily weighted down desk. Leaving the stroller in the center of the room away from much of the clutter, Dumbledore moved to smile down at the disheveled man.

"Joined in too many of the parties last night, my friend? I would have thought they'd died down by now. I'm been pleasantly wrong about that I see," Dumbledore said so earnestly there was no way the comment could have been mistaken for teasing.

"On the contrary, Dumbledore, I've been rather too busy to join in with any of my overjoyed colleagues. I'm rather at a stalemate in my work, you see, that's how I found myself on the floor." Dumbledore nodded in total understanding, and moved to join the poor Minister on the thickly carpeted floor. Not being as young as he used to be, he creaked slightly on the way down. The man continued in his slightly pathetic voice. "I beg you, please take my place. No one is more suited for the position than you. This country would still be in peril if not for your efforts." Dumbledore just blinked back at him for a moment before answering cryptically.

"The only ones truly suited for power are the ones that aren't. I am actually here to discuss another issue with you." The Minister's face was somewhere between constipated and completely pained. That's when the nearly forgotten baby let out a gurgled giggle, drawing attention back to herself. Both men turned and rose up to get a better look at her. The Minister was astonished at what he saw, but Dumbledore merely giggled, familiar with the behavior. The air space in the messy room was now filled with several loose papers, orbiting the stroller like planets around the sun. With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore had the papers back in their proper space, and the baby looked on the verge of crying again. It did that a lot, as babies do.

"She's already showing signs of magic? At this age? Unheard of. Completely un….yes."

"Oh yes Minister," Dumbledore stated, almost proudly, "From what I gather from Minerva she's quite the handful. I think she's an absolutely delightful child in my eyes, of course. You wanted to discuss what will become of her, as I believe you put it Minister?" The man was still observing her in amazement as he picked up a thick newspaper from one dangerously teetering pile. He handed it to Dumbledore.

"Have you seen the headlines? The Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who Appeared. She's a celebrity and we don't even have the slightest idea where she came from. Have you made any progress in her identification, Albus?" He looked hopeful, lustingfor some information to share with the rumor hungry public.

"No, none at all," the Headmaster replied cheerfully, "And I don't think we will, not for a long time at the least. I believe her identity was lost along with the life of Lord Voldemort. You needn't worry, though, I've taken quite a liking to her. She won't be getting into any trouble on my watch."

"DON'T YOU SPEAK HIS NAME FOR GOD'S SAKE," the Minister sputtered, and then checked himself, remembering who it was that he was speaking to, "She could be his pawn, some sort of evil. We here at the Ministry believe she should be locked up, under constant observation, until we judge that she should be released. Honestly, I even thought this much should be written in the Prophet." He raised his head up and shot an entitled look at the infant. Dumbledore let out a patient sign and began to speak in a quiet voice.

"And what if she isn't? We have to consider that by some strange twist of fate a completely innocent child appeared in that house that night. You would wish for her to suffer through whatever captivity you have envisioned for her with no definite proof of any wrongdoing at all? A child who grows up alone, reading hateful newspaper articles of actions she had no control over back before she could even speak more than a few words….that's a child who will be fated for darkness, in my opinion. Calm yourself Minister, and take a closer look. She is but a mystery to you, and humans are known to blindly fear the unknown. I will watch over her in the future, I can promise you that. I plan to watch her blossom into a lovely young girl, very lacking of the evils you speak of. I am prepared to vouch for her with one hundred percent of my support, if it should come to that." The Minister groaned and rubbed his head with a closed fist.

"Fine, fine, _fine_. Where is it that you expect her to stay then, Albus? Shall I phone an orphanage? Or have you suddenly taken up the ambition to become a parent?" Dumbledore had an immediate answer, as though he had a predisposed knowledge of where the conversation was going to head before it even started.

"I have a family in mind, one that has already expressed interest in the past of aiding me against Lo..You- Know Who, as you prefer. It is to my knowledge that they recently have had a son of their own, and really they're wonderful people, even more wonderful parents. You may have met them? Arthur and Molly Weasley, I believe he works somewhere here in the Ministry." The Minister held up his hand, evidently tired of both the situation and the conversation. Where the girl ended up did not matter, as long as it was far from him.

"You will take care of all of this, and report to me if any incident involving her should occur?" A nod. "Very well, Albus, I'll allow it. Honestly, I could not be more happy that all of this madness is finally coming to an end." Dumbledore stepped over a discarded quill pen that lay on the floor in a puddle of ink, and tightened his hands on the handle of the stroller. The baby giggled highly again, looking directly into the eyes of the Minister, who averted his own.

"Actually, Minister, I see this all more as just a beginning." And with that statement he was gone, stroller and baby and all. The Minister rubbed on his head again, too mentally exhausted to word a spell to take the headache away. He looked around at the mounds of work he had to complete, questions to answer and problems to fix, and thought he may attempt to tackle them before it was time for lunch. After a minute of debating, he decided this was a very poor idea after all, and found himself once again on the floor of his office with his eyes closed to all of the chaos.


	2. Chapter 2

10 years later

Harry Potter believed that he had the worst luck in the world. Watching his aunt and uncle disappear in their car among the hundreds of others vying for a spot in the stand still morning traffic, he suddenly realized how true this really was. For example, after all the years of wishing for an escape from the general horribleness of his mother's sister's home, he had found one. And now he wouldn't be able to get there. 'Platform nine and three quarters,' he thought, 'What sort of madman wrote up this ticket anyways?' Knowing that anyone he asked would think him just as crazy as he knew this all was, he took to pacing the length of the area between platforms nine and ten. He was hopeful that if he did it enough times his train would appear before him. As it became clear this was just about as likely as frogs beginning to fall from the sky, he began to really panic. The clock inched closer and closer to eleven, and when it reached it, the train would leave. With or without Harry on it. Just about ready to give up, Harry's head snapped up, suddenly alert. He had heard the word Muggle, spoken close to him. He was sure of it. He listened carefully, but he couldn't pick out the voice again in the crowded train station. People were speed walking in every direction, all with different destinations. He spun around in a last desperate attempt to locate who said it, letting go of his trolley with one hand.

That was when she smashed into him.

Harry was a very thin boy from the years of being deprived of the hefty amounts of food his cousin Dudley was given, so he was little resistance in the path of the running girl. She plowed into his side and they both crashed to the ground, his knobby knees doing little to cushion her fall. Hedwig's cage was upturned in the tussle, and she shrieked from her new upside-down position. Everything was so tangled up, it took a few moments of awkward fumbling before the girl was able to get back on her feet and haul Harry back to a standing position. They both hadn't even realized the guard of the station yelling at him in the brief confusion. Even after everything was righted once again, Harry was still slightly oblivious. He was too transfixed by his mistaken attacker and her somewhat striking appearance.

Her clothes were oddly mismatched, the most prominent being the ratty plaid shirt that obviously belonged to a much larger man at some point. Strangely enough the clothes were hardly noticeable on her. It was everything else that drew his attention to it like a magnet. The air around her seemed to be electrified with energy, stemming from her ice green eyes that pierced right through his own dark green ones. Thick waves of hair poured from her roots to her waist, engulfing her small frame, dark as the new ink Harry had packed away for school. But it was not any of these things that drew Harry's attention the most. It was the wand, sleek and lengthy, that she twirled between the fingers of her right hand. Noticing this hand finally got him to notice the other one, which was waving in his face. At some point in his daze the girl had been joined by an older women, stout with flaming red hair to match her flushed cheeks.

"Do you reckon I should slap him, Mum? Maybe I knocked something lose when I hit him." The girl spoke, clearly as brazen as she was fast.

"No, you shouldn't _slap_ him, Becca. Honestly, trouble before we even get you on the train, I don't think we had that with Fred _or _George, its just madness, MADNESS! Young man, are you all right? Nod for yes dear." The woman had somehow managed to say this all in one breath, an impressive feat in itself. Harry finally found it in himself to move, and nodded quickly. The girl tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear and let out a noise somewhat of a mixture of a sign of relief and a laugh.

"Brilliant! So sorry again you know, I was a bit distracted. I'll see you on the train." She flashed a smile and was off again, joining a group of children ranging in age, all with hair to match the mother in front of him. He figured she had deduced that he was going on the same train as her from Hedwig. He was no where as extraordinary in appearance as her, who you could just tell was going somewhere different from the norm. Still watching her, he blanched as she followed an older boy at a jog towards an apparent brick wall. They were gone. Disappeared into thin air. The panic was back. The woman started to turn away to yell something after them, but Harry cleared his throat.

"Could you…I don't…" he stuttered, fully embarrassed. The woman smiled somewhat knowingly and ushered him forward.

"Come, dear, its simple, nothing to it. Follow Ron, it's his first year too, you'll be better off together. Just get a nice good pace and you'll go straight through to the platform." Skeptical, Harry exchanged glances with Ron. Lanky, hunched and pale under his freckles, Ron looked just as nervous as Harry felt. Finally he felt a firm hand on his back, pushing him forward along with his new acquaintance through the barrier.

—

Finally on the train, Harry was able to catch his breath. He had done it. He was going to Hogwarts.

He followed Ron through the crowded train as though his life depended on it, still too nervous to be alone in this peculiar world that he had been thrust into. He tried to ignore the whispers and stares that followed him, telling himself they were all looking at Ron and not him. He had forgotten just how well known Hagrid had promised he was.

They finally found an empty compartment, all the way at the other end of the train. They each collapsed onto the plush benches opposite of each other. Ron closed his eyes, but Harry gazed out the window at the swiftly moving scenery, too wired up to relax. None of the land looked familiar. But then again, anything outside of Privet Drive would look new and exciting to him. They sat a while longer in silence, neither knowing quite what to say. Harry didn't mind. He was just happy to have company for once. Ron finally sat up and offered his hand to Harry, who shook it with a smile, ignoring the griminess.

"I'm Ron Weasely. That was part of the my family back there-" Harry interrupted.

"Part? You mean there's more of you?" Ron blushed, and Harry wondered if this was a touchy subject with the skinny boy.

"Well, yes, theres a few more. We're a big family, all in Gryffindor house."

"Brilliant!" Harry answered, although he had absolutely no idea what a Gryffindor was. He'd forgotten if Hagrid had mentioned it when they were in Diagon Allley. He thought of what a having a family as large as that would feel like. Ron continued on, more confident now that he had Harry's approval.

"Well you've seen Mom, and then there was Percy and Fred and George, Ginny and of course you saw-"

"Me," A voice said as the girl from the platform entered into the carriage, plopping herself right next to Harry. She seemed unfazed that she had interrupted their conversation. She too held out her hand. "Rebecca Weasley. The black sheep of the family." Harry wasn't planning on mentioning the fact that she was so outrageously different from the group on the platform as he nervously stared at the hand without shaking it. As though she had read his mind, she continued. "I'm not related to them by blood though, so don't hold out on a hope of Ron growing into some staggering good looks like my own. If you want him as a friend, you're stuck with the hair for life." Harry couldn't tell if she was kidding or not until she smiled over her shoulder at her brother and leaned forward to punch his knee. Harry decided that he already like this family very much. Ron, still blushing, addressed him again.

"What'd you say your name was again, mate?"

"Um, Harry. Harry Potter." The laugh froze on Rebecca's face and Ron's eyes widened. This was not the reaction that Harry was hoping for. There was a silence between them, the only sounds muffled as they traveled through the compartment walls. Rebecca spoke in a completely different tone from the one he'd heard so far.

"Harry Potter. You don't know anything about this world do you?" Slightly offended, Harry answered.

"I'm a fast learner. Magic _is_ in my blood, or else I wouldn't be here." He was jealous of them at that moment, of how they had grown up knowing of all of these wondrous things. Rebecca was shaking her head slowly.

"I didn't mean…I only meant to say, you don't have any idea of who I am, do you?" Harry was slightly annoyed now. At her and Ron, who was still frozen openmouthed.

"You just told me your name, what are you playing at?" He moved to get up, but Rebecca shifted into his path, holding up a hand to stop in. She was slightly out of breath, even though she'd been sitting for minutes now. The light outside was fading, although it was still mid afternoon.

"I was there…the night you got that," she said, pointing to his forehead. "Just a baby like you. I've been waiting a very long time to meet you, Harry Potter." He didn't know what to even make of this. It had only been weeks ago that he had found out what had occurred on that night, and now he was to find out there was even more complications to the story.

"I don't understand. What on earth would you have been doing there, that night?" The silence was staggering.

"No one knows, Harry Potter. I was rather hoping you'd help me figure it out."

—-


End file.
